As the dawn chirping of crickets yields to the raucous cries of crows, chauffeur-driven BMWs and luxury sedans overtake tractors and cyclists on the narrow roads crisscrossing western India's wine country.

They sweep past vineyard workers in red and pink saris, clipping pale green bunches of chenin blanc grapes and piling them into plastic crates. At the end of a picturesque driveway, past a neat vineyard, the cars disgorge a group of thirtysomethings with branded backpacks and designer sunglasses.

These young, urbane Indians work for global corporations and have lived in Paris, New York and London. Products of India's liberalised economy, they are highly westernised and have come here to learn more about wine. Unlike the millions of Hindu pilgrims who pass through nearby Nashik on their way to Shirdi, home of the original Sai Baba, one of India's most revered gurus, this crowd seeks social, not spiritual, mobility. "Globalisation has a lot to do with why we're here," explains Sudeep, 36, employed by a British-based insurance company in Mumbai. "We want to learn about everything."

India's upwardly mobile, educated, white-collar elite represent the tiny minority of Indians – less than 3%, according to the finance ministry – who pay their income tax. Yet they often complain they get little in return: no clean water, no regular electricity nor decent schools for their children.

Despite their dissatisfaction, they have traditionally been less likely to vote, disengaging from the government as they rely increasingly on the private sector to provide back-up power, personal security, drinking water and international standards of education for their children.

And when they need a break from the frenetic pace of life in the megacity ofMumbai, they head for the picturesque privately run vineyards a few hours' drive north. Sula – the most successful of the 35 Indian wineries nestled here – offers an infinity pool with a sunken bar, wine tours, tastings and world-class cuisine.

"My first ever glass of wine was an Argentinian merlot in London," said Rinki, 31, the sole woman in a group of 10 office workers visiting from Mumbai.

Along with shifts in India's tradition and culture, these aspirational Indians also seek more accountable governance and social progress. During 21 years of economic reform, they have seen huge changes in the private sector, but little improvement in public infrastructure. In this year's elections, what they crave most are sweeping changes to a political system riddled with patronage and impunity.

"How can I vote for Rahul Gandhi," asks one man, referring to the scion of the Nehru-Gandhi dynasty and the vice-president of the Congress party. "This Congress government is so inept, it's unbelievable."

If this group is indicative, 2014 may be the year India's elites turn out in large numbers at the polling booths.

"I'm voting for a simple reason," said one young man, who plans to take holiday time to travel to his home constituency to vote. "Last time our growth rate was 9%. Now it's 4.5%. What happened?"

The overwhelming feeling among this group is that the country's leaders have squandered the momentum of liberalisation. Not far from Sula's vineyards and spa lies a landscape that has hardly changed for centuries. Much of rural Maharashtra is still home to farmers with tiny landholdings who struggle to grow enough to make ends meet. In March, two heavily indebted farmers killed themselves after unseasonable rains destroyed their crops, a reminder of just how desperate conditions can be at the other end of the social scale.

But inside the winery, the tour group is temporarily insulated from wider troubles as they take photos of the gleaming, stainless-steel fermenting tanks and imported French oak barrels.

Sula's staff pride themselves on de-mystifying both the wine-making process and drinking etiquette for their customers. "Brut means dry and sparkling," explains the earnest young guide as he prepares to open a bottle. "But never point the cork at anyone's face. It could be dangerous."

"He'll be a dictator," said an elegantly dressed man with salt-and-pepper hair.

"Is that such a bad thing?" asks Rinki. She wonders whether having a strong leader able to drive efficient reforms might not be the lesser of two evils.

In Sula's tasting room, with its long, rustic counter and soft lighting, degustation and democracy make for a heady mix. These Indians straddle two opposing worlds: a fast-paced capitalist sphere where, at the very least, you are held accountable to profits and efficiency. The second world, which intrudes constantly into their ordered lives, is one marked by India's degrading poverty and crumbling public infrastructure. Increasingly, the strain is becoming untenable.

"I find India so un-smart," said Sonia, a dentist from Mumbai. "If you ask for a glass of water in an eatery, you have to check if the glass is clean, if the waiter's hands are clean, if the water is safe to drink. Where are the standards?"

"Man, I rode on one highway up in the hills that was like paved, and totally smooth," Rachid, 31, relates to his friends. It is telling that something as basic as a functional road still elicits tones of incredulity in modern India.

Rinki sees some hope in some candidates, such as the self-made billionaire Nandan Nilekani, co-founder and former chief executive of Infosys, one of India's most successful consulting, engineering and outsourcing companies, who is the representing the Congress party in Bangalore, India's IT capital. Although he is untried as a politician, Nilekani's supporters say he will bring private-sector accountability, and the reputation of a generous philanthropist.

"You know, India needs professionals like us to run for office," she says. "How will anything change unless we also get our hands dirty?"